RETROSPECT
by dropdeadred
Summary: 5 Chapters. Clarice and the good Doctor reach their understanding. Some angst, and resolution.
1. Retrospect

RETROSPECT  
Chapter 1/5 

Author's Note: This is my first really ambitious fanfic for a long time. I've played loose and hard with the last hours of both book and movie canon, please don't hate me! Also, let me know if some of the formatting doesn't work, or if the timeframe becomes confusing at any point. You get so close to your own stories that it is difficult to read them afresh. Chapter 1 is rated PG-13. Chapter 2 contains R-rated material.

***BEGIN CHAPTER ONE***

She could feel them all looking at her, feel their eyes straining through the gloom to catch a glimpse of her face. Unashamed, she tried to ignore them, ignore the attention and the guilt they were trying desperately to confirm or deny. The eyes on Starling glinted dully in the gathering dusk, searching for the thing that would explain why Hannibal Lecter had left this one alive. Lips muttered to one another things she could not hear, but the way the shifty characters around her were trying to speak without moving their lips told her that she was the hot topic of conversation. The sounds of their voices, but not the actual words, carried clearly in the stilly night on the river.

She rapped on the window to get the attention of the deputy standing outside the car she had been escorted to. He turned and leaned toward the open window, his eyes on the pale strip of exposed skin running throat to navel.  
"I'd like to be taken to the hospital now, if you wouldn't mind. I want to go home."  
The deputy nodded, and went to consult his superior.  
She leaned her head back and sighed. Tomorrow the questions would start. After tonight there would be no respite.

**

The visit to the hospital had been a short one. Aside from rest, the physician had also prescribed her an overly large bottle of antacid after she complained of nausea. The sick feeling was still nagging at her stomach as she pecked away at her keyboard, dutifully making her report on the events of the few days she had spent on the Chesapeake in the company of Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

_For what I can approximate to be 48 hours I was heavily sedated with what the ER toxicology report confirms was morphine. I awoke on the third evening shortly before dark in a bed on the second floor of Mr. Krendler's house, with no recollection since being shot in Mason Verger's barn. I was dressed in the outfit tagged and bagged along with this report_

Clarice paused. It was only a small lie. What were 48 hours to the Bureau? In truth, she had been coherent just a few hours after their arrival on the Chesapeake, thanks to the timely administration of the appropriate counter-measures. Lecter had been sitting beside her bed when she came to, and she remembered a powerful swell of relief that they were both still alive, and evidently a long way from Muskrat Farm.

What was her duty now? Word was coming to her from her few remaining sources that her severance package would be a good one, and that the reason for her resignation was already slated to be issues of emotional capability. What was her duty to an institution that would hold her up like a human shield after all the blood, sweat and tears she had already expended in their defense? The swift rush of anger solidified her resolve. She continued

_I was dressed in the outfit tagged and bagged with this report. The pictures from the scene depict the nature of the ensemble. I have no recollection of how I came to be wearing these clothes. I left the bedroom and called 911. At this time I was still under the influence of the drugs given to me by Dr. Lecter and my recollections are regrettably hazy. I believe I went downstairs where he and Paul Krendler seemed to be sitting down to dinner. I don't believe I ate. I tried to engage the Doctor, but he easily overpowered me, given my condition, and trapped me by my hair in the refrigerator_

Clarice stopped typing. Glossing over the 'dinner party' was easy, what engaged her thoughts now, was how to describe the Doctor's miraculous escape. She laughed silently, momentarily imagining the looks on her superior's faces were she to tell the truth. Actually, Lecter was the best therapist I ever had. He hypnotized me and I feel freer than I ever felt before. I let him go as a thank you.. Her fingers itched to type those very words, and more. One of the detriments to her new-found freedom was the urge to constantly speak the truth, however distasteful it might be. Instead, she finished up:

_I had concealed my handcuffs, which I had found upstairs along with my unloaded weapon, in my dress. Dr. Lecter tried to kiss me and I cuffed myself to him. He tried to persuade me to let him go, and when I would not, threatened me with a butcher knife. I believe he dislocated his thumb and several of his fingers with a sharp blow to the back of his hand, and escaped the cuffs that way. It took me several minutes to free myself from the refrigerator door, and when I got outside, Lecter was gone and law enforcement had arrived. The rest of the incident is a matter of record with the local Sheriff's department._

She sat back now, surveying the work of deception and outright lies that she had created to feed into the ever-open maw of the FBI. She added a few recommendations to the bottom of the report, half-heartedly, suggesting that the Doctor would be halfway to Europe or even Asia by now, and requested, for show of course, that a deputy be stationed outside her house until they could be sure he was not coming back for her.

How she wished he would.

Despite her sudden urge to speak bluntly, there were some things Clarice would never reveal, not to the Bureau, not to Ardelia, not even to John Brigham or Jack Crawford, had they been alive. Many of the investigative team attributed her reluctance to elaborate on her experience to something like shellshock... Oh no, it was something else entirely. The secret she now kept warmed her frozen soul and shielded her from the volleys of those who would harm her. She couldn't describe it in words, but in their short time alone, truly alone this time, he had given her something so precious that her heart ached with gratitude. For the first time in her life, Clarice felt unfettered by anything. He had brought her to realize that she owed nothing to anybody except herself.

Already at the end of her tether by the time she had reached Muskrat Farm that fateful night, Clarice had been a truly broken spirit when she awoke on the Chesapeake, too tired to be afraid of the monster at her bedside. When she had attempted to croak out a greeting she found her voice lacking and he was immediately proffering a glass of water to her lips.  
"You gave me cause for concern there for a while, Clarice. You didn't seem to want to wake up."  
Clarice surveyed him silently, and he continued.  
"You can relax, my dear, I have no intentions towards you tonight, of any description. You saved my life."  
Piquing interest cleared Clarice's foggy head somewhat. That sounded awfully like sincerity from him, something she hadn't heard in his voice for a long time. In the midst of international cat-and-mouse they had never seemed to have time to be anything other than antagonistic towards one another.  
"Are you ok Doctor?" It was not the agent's voice she used. Clarice felt out of time, out of body.  
"Yes, thank you." He seeme genuinely please she had asked. "And you, you will be just fine too. When you feel like it there is a bathroom just through that door," he gestured vaguely behind him, not taking his eyes off her for a second. "You can take a shower or a bath, there are clothes in the closet. I will be downstairs. Maybe some coffee?"  
Despite herself, she smiled lopsidedly, and nodded. He stood and departed, and she heard him taking the stairs. 

Out of body just about summed it up. She could no sooner have attempted an apprehension than she could have opened the window and flown home. The physical was part of it, but she was surprised and intrigued to find that she lacked even the slightest motivation. A bath sounded great.

***FIN CHAPTER ONE***


	2. Some Kind of Therapy

RETROSPECT  
2/5  
Some Kind of Therapy

Author's Note: Chapter two contains R-rated material.

***BEGIN CHAPTER TWO***

Of those two days, forever lost to the FBI, Clarice remembered feeling more safe in the company of Lecter, and more at home than she had ever felt before in her lifetime. He had been the only solid shape in her world, the only thing she felt she could rely on not to change before her very eyes. Her attempted rescue had been her last ditch effort to save the one constant in her life, Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Sat at her cramped desk in the Arlington duplex, Starling took another swallow of her club soda, willing the nausea down, and allowed the memories to play over

**

"Why do you think you always did as you were told, Clarice?"  
"Until now, you mean?" She gave a half-hearted laugh. "I have no idea. I guess I felt secure in the system."  
They sat in armchairs facing one another, it was a clear, bright afternoon and the chill air was kept at bay by a gently crackling fire in the hearth.  
"Secure in what way?"  
"In that it was public, that everybody had to answer to somebody, there was no gray."  
"The checks and balances in place were a solid frame-work, you enjoyed playing by the rules, didn't you Clarice? With everybody abiding by those rules you had as good a shot as anybody. You were an equal-"  
"But not everybody played by the rules." Clarice finished for him. She paused, holding her breath for a second. He waited. "What do we do now?" She raised her eyes and looked at him, her expression slightly sad.  
"What do you mean?" His velvety voice lacked any hint of surprise. He knew what she meant, but that it was important that she voice it herself.  
"I don't want to turn you in. But I can't stay here for much longer either."  
"You can't stay there either, Clarice."  
She nodded, agreeing.  
"I'm an agent only by title, now. This-" she gestured to the two of them, "changes everything. Even if they wanted me back now."  
"You never would have won Clarice." He interrupted. "You would have gone on beating your pretty little head against the wall, the glass ceiling, whatever"  
She smiled at him, still sadly, knowing that very shortly she would have to leave the only person in the world who had ever understood her, who had ever really meant something to her. As if reading her mind, he spoke.  
"We could have our moment in the sun, Clarice, but it would be so brilliant it would burn itself out in too short a time for my liking, and we would both be finished up, rotting in some cell for the rest of our long lives." A pause. "It has to be this way."  
One tear escaped from each eye and tumbled down her cheeks. He was suddenly out of his seat and kneeling before her.  
"Clarice, there is no need to be sad." He leaned in and kissed each damp cheek.  
"But you're the only person who gives a damn about me, and I couldn't care less about anybody but you."  
The Doctor's chest rose and fell slowly with a deep sigh.  
"I don't want to go back to prison, Clarice. And I can assure you it is not something you would want to experience either. I'm being as honest with you as I know how. I don't want to hurt your feelings but-" His words were silenced by her lips on his. Surprised, it was a moment before he returned the kiss.

Clarice's mind reeled with pleasure as she felt his soft lips moving gently against hers, felt his hand come up behind her head and hold her steady. She knew she should be afraid, but fear was not an emotion that had been familiar to her for some time. Her sense of justice had over-ridden her fear at taking on Mason's Sards, and her sense of what she deserved, what was just and fair for herself, negated any fear she might feel now. All she knew was how right this felt, the connection between two people elbowed from the pack, shunned and chased away, an embarrassment, a danger, a liability. None of this mattered as they poured their feelings into the kiss, a heady cocktail of sweet and bitter that made Clarice a little faint, and Doctor Lecter more than a little aroused. He hummed low in his throat as they parted at last.  
"Clarice," his voice was husky as he looked at her under hooded lids. "Above all else in a person I appreciate the capacity to surprise me. Thank you."  
She smiled weakly in return, swallowing hard and wondering how she could ask for more of his wonderful attentions without appearing base and needy. It quickly became apparent she had no such dilemma to solve, as he stood, pulling her to her feet with him, and led her out of the lounge and up the stairs.

As they crossed the threshold of the master bedroom, all pretence at restraint was abandoned. He turned her to him sharply and pulled her close, his eyes hungrily reading her expression. His hands were hot on her waist as he paused, silently searching her expression, asking her permission to continue. Her response was to tug his shirt open, buttons popping and pinging in all directions. Clarice had never physically been on the receiving end of Lecter's strength and intent until now, and as she was forced backwards and down onto the bed, stumbling to keep her footing, she felt a rush of pleasure at being so hopelessly dominated. His demeanor had changed from wonder to hunger in a heartbeat. She welcomed his weight atop of her, ready to be devoured, as he came down and began blazing a fiery trail of kisses along her jawline and down her neck. She was aching for him to fill her, to take her as his own; a raw animal passion she had never before experienced was pushing all other thoughts from her mind.

Lecter lathed his tongue along Clarice's collarbone, feeling her stretch and rise beneath him. He captured a nipple in his teeth, gently, through the fabric of her shirt, and had to close his eyes tightly to keep control of himself, as she let out a breathy sigh of pleasure. He had been intimate with many women, but not for some time, and none like this - not with anybody who knew who he really was. This added dimension was provocative and heady. He had given up all hope of ever experiencing a close relationship again in his lifetime. Clarice Starling was a precious gift, and one he meant to appreciate to his last ounce of strength, while he still had her. Slipping one hand inside her shirt he delighted in the hot smoothness concealed there. Perhaps he had imagined scenarios, exchanges before, certainly he had imagined fucking her, but the reality blew away all those fantasies like so much dust in the wind. It took him a moment to realize that she was speaking through her haze of pleasure, whispering to him.  
"I need you. I need you now" The last word ended on a wail, and he was powerless to deny her. Quickly they both divested themselves of their garments and he loomed over her once again, looking down at his Clarice, pink in cheek and chest.  
"I would like to remember you Clarice, forever, as you look now." He spoke hoarsely, his fingers stroking down her abdomen, lower, lower, until they made contact with her most sensitive part. An electric jolt passed through her and, satisfied, he positioned himself over her. Ex-special agent Starling closed her eyes as he bore down and entered her in one smooth movement. He started a slow rhythm and they rocked against one another, his mouth on hers swallowing any noises that escaped her.

Clarice felt the swelling wave of ecstasy spreading from her center, spreading from his movement, his phallus filling her so completely. He sensed her approaching climax and it seemed to excite him all the more, his tempo increased and she felt him swell inside of her and knew that he was close too.  
"Doctor" barely a whisper.  
"Hannibal.it's Hannibal.." he responded, wanting to laugh but unable to concentrate on anything else except the singular feeling of being deeply inside of her.  
"Hannibal" but she never finished the sentence. Her expression was fascinating to him, almost a look of pain, of fear, came over her face, and he felt her squeezing him, felt her vulva pulse around his manhood and watched her expression dissolve into ecstasy. Her quiet cries of pleasure became louder sobs and he was a finished man. His orgasm came upon him with a force he was unprepared for and he lurched, spilling his seed deep inside her. He let out a long growl of surprised pleasure and buried his face in her neck, as they both rode the crest of their torrid joining.

Clarice found the good Doctor surprisingly pliable as she nudged him so they could roll and lay on their sides facing one another. She stroked his face and smiled at him tiredly, a little sadly. He returned her cockeyed grin. Neither really wanted to speak. What was there to say? He kissed her on the forehead, and they drifted off into an uneasy sleep, not to wake until darkness had fallen completely outside the window.

***FIN CHAPTER TWO***


	3. The Long Goodbye

RETROSPECT  
3/5  
The Long Goodbye 

***BEGIN CHAPTER THREE***  
Having handed in her report to the Bureau earlier that morning, Clarice Starling was making her way through the maze of grey and taupe corridors, traveling deeper and deeper below the earth, on the way to her windowless office in the basement of Behavioral Science. Blevins had sent an escort with her 'for her own comfort,' and she had barely managed to shake him off after a quick visit to the lavatories on the ground floor. She had lost him in the throng in the lobby. Still, she only had a few minutes at best. There were just one or two things she preferred they not know she had taken

When the young agent arrived, slightly red-faced, at the door to her office, Clarice greeted him brightly.  
"Quite a crowd up there huh? Well, I'm more or less done here. Just a few personal effects from my desk." For show, she picked out a few knick-knacks and doodads from the desktop and inside the drawer, and dropped them into the carton she was carrying. Her hand paused, hovering over John Brigham's pecking bird. She chose to leave it. A cardigan from the back of her chair thrown nonchalantly on top of the contents of the box finished her pillage of the office.  
"I hope you get to come back to work soon, Ms. Starling." The agent hovering in the doorway said sheepishly, "as soon as you're feeling better, that is."  
"Oh I'm quite alright now - Steve, was it?"  
"Yes ma'am. Steve Harwell"  
"Well Agent Steve Harwell, thanks for accompanying me. If you have to see me out, let's get it over and done with." There was not a hint of accusation in her voice, but the young man had the good grace to blush and apologize.  
"If it was up to me, ma'am"  
"I know." She looked at the office one last time. "Let's go."

Clarice had been out running in the park, but it had become painful emotionally, to run in that same place knowing he had watched her there. Home again, and a quick shower later, she was nursing a cold Dos Equis and trying desperately to think of something to do until Ardelia Mapp came home and provided some welcome distraction. Sitting idle like this was poison. She supposed it would get better in time, but every heartbroken soul knows this, and none much care. How she missed him. If she thought of her heartache as payment for his freedom it was a little easier to bear, though not by much. The heart is selfish deep-down, she was coming to understand. The cold beer was soothing going down, though she knew she would feel the complaint from her over-active stomach sooner or later. She attributed the recurring sickness she was experiencing to the stress and drama, and figured it would go away sooner or later. Despite all her best efforts to the contrary, Clarice found herself dwelling on those last few hours on the Chesapeake once more

**

The bedroom was dark but a soft glow from a nightlight in the hallway outside enabled Clarice to see her way to the bathroom without bumping into anything and making too much noise. Only when she closed the bathroom door and switched on the light did she realize the absurdity of her carefulness. He had certainly woken as soon as she had left the bed, if not sooner. There was no doubting the sharpness of his senses. She wondered vaguely if he always slept so lightly. She splashed a little water on her face, and slicked her tousled hair back from her face.

When she emerged from the bathroom, he was up and drawing the curtains. He had donned his trousers and his shirt hung open on his broad torso. They looked at one another for a long moment before he spoke.  
"There are clothes in the closet, my dear."  
"Thanks," she hesitated, suddenly aware of her nudity. Her body read a little like Wound Man, but she was oddly un-shy now.  
"I'll be making dinner, if you're hungry. Might I suggest the black dress that is hanging? There are also the shoes I bought for you"  
She crossed to the closet and, opening the doors wide, pulled out the slip of a dress hanging therein. The material was silky soft yet heavy and, she noticed, there was not all that much of it.  
"I've never worn anything like this in my life," she half laughed.  
"We have a guest downstairs, also." He offered.  
"A guest?"  
"Mr. Krendler. I caught up with him two days ago when I ventured out for some medical supplies for you."  
Clarice swallowed hard and looked down at the floor. She was not sure how she should react. Certainly she understood that Lecter was not a cat to change his spots, she just hadn't expected to be consulted. She was giving him the freedom he wanted, but she didn't want to be holding onto the tail of this snake. Evidently he understood.  
"I tell you, my sweet girl, not to invite you into my plans, merely to have you understand that you may wish to stay upstairs a while longer, and then join me later. Surely you have," he paused as if searching for the words, "things women do, to do?" He cracked a grin at his ineptitude. Relieved, Clarice relaxed.  
"What time would you like me to come down?"  
He looked at his watch.  
"It is just 6.30 now. I'd be happy for you to join me oh, around 9?"  
"I'd love to."  
A heavy silence followed. They stood on either side of the room trying not to look uncomfortable. There were things that needed to be discussed. He took the lead, moving to the bed and sitting down on it. He patted it lightly.  
"Come sit for a moment."  
Clarice obliged.  
"I think it best if we get you out of here tonight. Sooner rather than later is always better."  
She nodded, suddenly choked up. He went on:  
"In order to keep you out of trouble, it would be safest if we fabricated a capture and escape. We'll put a few things in place, you will call the authorities, and I I will leave."  
Glossing over the details of their little playlet, Clarice went straight to the issue that bothered her the most.  
"Where will you go?"  
"Honestly? I haven't decided yet. Asia, possibly. Florence is a little hot right now, for me at least." He showed his small white teeth in a soft grin. "I haven't visited Hong Kong in many years."  
"Will I hear from you?"  
"Maybe not for a long time. Maybe not well, I can't promise a lot of anything. You must understand, they'll be watching you like hawks. They distrust you already. They're still waiting to be able to put that final nail in the coffin of your career."  
"Well I'm gonna beat them to that." She muttered.  
"That's my girl." His quiet response touched her deeply. It was true, she was now forever his. Instead of fearing her future alone, Clarice now saw more potential there than she ever had.  
"So," she said, affecting a brightness she didn't truly feel. "9 o'clock?"  
He drew her into a kiss then, a kiss that lingered on her lips long after he had left the room, closing the door behind him and leaving her to her thoughts.

Soaking in the bath-tub an hour later, Clarice hummed to herself and tried not to think of what might be going on downstairs, out of sight and out of earshot. She felt no remorse at Paul Krendler's fate. His death would have a certain symmetry, she mused, a certain irony; the rudest man she knew was being attended to by the most polite. 

Aside from not thinking about Krendler the hyena, Clarice was also not thinking about the likelihood that her dinner date, in just over an hour's time, would be the last time she saw Hannibal Lecter like this. She tried to think of him as 'Hannibal' but the thought did not rest easy with her, and the odds were that she wouldn't have time to grow into that familiarity with him. Toweling off and applying some of the fragrant lotion she had found in the bathroom cabinet brought Clarice to 8.30pm, and she decided it was time to dress and go downstairs. She ran her fingers over the smooth black dress and thought for a second about underwear. Feeling brazen, she slipped the dress over her head sans panties, and turned to the mirror to survey the image. What she saw she was not expecting.

Although her hair was in the same pony tail it always was, her face bore the same lack of makeup as ever, the reflection in the glass was a different woman than she was accustomed to meeting in the mirror. Something had changed, something major. Clarice felt she was looking at a new face, and it was not unpleasant. She saw herself standing straight, she looked confident and beautiful. The dress became her terribly. Sliding her feet into the shoes, she buckled the ankles and returned to her image in the ornate mirror. The dress was simple, slashed from the neckline all the way to her navel, and the same in back, and falling to just below her knees. The shoes felt expensive. For a second Clarice had a glimpse of the woman she was in his presence, the woman he had made her, and she wanted to weep with pleasure. She felt a pride in herself that had been long dormant, felt it swelling in her breast and shining from every pore in her body. An inner calm was settling over her being as she continued to stare at herself. She wondered how she could ever repay him for giving her life, and her thoughts turned back once more to the immediate. It was 9pm.

She was telling the truth when, in her paperwork for the Bureau, she had reported that she hadn't eaten at dinner with Dr Lecter and Paul Krendler. She and Lecter had shared a quiet supper in the living room. She wouldn't have even known Krendler had been there if not for the delicious smell of cooking that hung in the air, and every now and then a short burst of song was audible at the edges of her hearing. At Lecter's request, she did her best to put it from her mind.  
"So it's time, I guess," she offered. "I wish we could stay like this forever, but this is killing me." She dropped her gaze.  
"I understand." He leaned closer on the couch they were sharing and put one hand to her face. "Never forget, Clarice. You're always mine."  
"And you?" she said quietly, hardly daring to hope.  
"I think the fact that you sit here before me speaks of the value I place in you."  
They sat companionably, for another few minutes, before he broke the silence.  
"Let's go trash the kitchen."  
An explosive laugh was forced from her and he stood and tugged her to her feet. In the kitchen, they set about knocking dishes from the spaces on the shelves and units, Clarice trying not to look at the wooden screen that hid the evening's earlier dinner guest. Lecter yanked at the door handle on the fridge, while Clarice fastened her cuffs around her own wrist and let the other end hang free.   
"It's time for you to make the call Clarice."  
"Yes," she nodded, stepped into the hallway and picked up the receiver. Lecter turned his back. She did not see him squeezing his eyes tight shut, nor the deep breath he required not to call it all off and steal her away, forever on the run together. She dropped the handset mid-conversation with the emergency services and turned to him. From his suit jacket, Lecter produced a syringe. Clarice's eyes filled with tears, but she stubbornly blinked them back and offered her arm.  
He advanced upon her position, and covered her mouth with his as he simultaneously inserted the needle under her skin.. She choked back a sob as he withdrew the hypodermic, immediately beginning to feel the effects of the morphine, and feeling a rising panic at having to let him go now the moment was upon them. He pulled her into an embrace and whispered into her ear.  
"Be careful, my Clarice. Don't try to go too far, you might hurt yourself."  
"I won't." She muttered, her head swirling. "You have to go now."  
"Don't forget me, Clarice Starling."  
"Not in a thousand years."  
Clarice stood straight and tall, as she watched him leave, dimly registering the sirens in the distance. After what seemed like an age, she dried her eyes and stumbled outside.

***FIN CHAPTER THREE***


	4. Forward Motion

RETROSPECT  
4/5  
Forward Motion 

***BEGIN CHAPTER FOUR***

The sound of a key in the lock woke Clarice with a start, she must have fallen asleep. Ardelia was home. Clarice hurriedly wiped her teary eyes and took a deep breath to restore her calm, as the remnants of her dreams came back to her. She was going to dream of that scene as long as she lived. It had been almost a week since he had vanished from the face of the earth, a week since she had aided his clean departure from the gruesome crime-scene that was Krendler's last stand.  
"Hey Clarice." Ardelia Mapp entered Clarice's living room by way of the kitchen they shared.  
"Hey Ardelia. How's work?"  
Ardelia smiled wryly. She wasn't sure how to respond to Clarice's flippancy. She had expected there to be some jealousy, some animosity stemming from her dismissal, but there was none that she could perceive. More alarming to Mapp was the fact that Starling had not mentioned Lecter at all, not once. Denial was not a word she knew to be in Clarice Starling's vocabulary. All she could do, however, was wait. Choosing not to answer the pointed question, she asked instead:  
"Did you eat yet? I thought maybe we could go out."  
Clarice screwed up her face a little. She still wasn't up to public appearances yet. The Tattler was still having its field day with the events on the Verger estate and the house on the river. She couldn't wait to be yesterday's news.  
"Take out?" She offered as a compromise. "We can go pick it up, get some fresh air."  
"Alright," Mapp nodded. "Just give me a second to change ok?"

The two women picked out a reputable, local Chinese restaurant that was fairly close. The drive was mostly quiet except for comments about other drivers and the weather. When they arrived at the establishment, it seemed everybody in Arlington had had the same idea tonight, there was queue along the counter, reaching to the door. Parking the car, Starling shrugged and got out to join the line. If there was one thing she had in abundance, it was time.

The eatery space was small and hot, the fluorescent lights a little too bright in Clarice's eyes as they stood. The queue was moving very slowly. Ardelia was talking, but Clarice was concentrating on a fresh wave of nausea that was making her want to double over. She took a deep breath and prayed that she wouldn't be sick here. The voices around her seemed to lose all clarity, and the warmth of the place turned stifling. As she thought about taking off her jacket, Clarice's vision suddenly clouded and blurred. _Oh god not now._ she thought desperately, but the blur of faces that had turned to her faded to black, and she slumped down, half caught by Ardelia.

**

When she awoke, Clarice was in the back seat of her own Mustang, and Ardelia Mapp was trying to drive and look back anxiously at her friend at the same time.  
"What? What happened? Where are we?"  
Ardelia heaved a visible sigh of relief.  
"My god, you're awake. You gave me such a fucking fright!" She swallowed, and continued more calmly. "We're on our way to the Emergency Room. I want you to get checked out."  
"There's no need, really," Clarice began to protest. "I'm just worn out, is all."  
"Whatever, but for my peace of mind ok? You seem to have forgotten but you were the hostage of he-who-shall-be-nameless not a week ago. Who knows what that sick fuck did to you? You just don't know."  
Clarice stifled a protest. This was harder than she ever thought. She constantly battled with herself not to defend him to others. It made her want to cry with frustration. She remained silent and let Ardelia cluck over her like some mother hen.

Forgoing Ardelia's company in the exam room at the ER, Clarice finally began to wonder what had made her pass out like that. She stared absently at the wall as a doctor ran a battery of basic tests, checked her eyes, pulse, blood pressure, drew a blood sample. In the midst of her reverie, she realized he was speaking to her.  
"Did you eat anything today Miss Starling? It is Miss, isn't it?"  
"Yes, and no. I mean, yes it's Miss, and no, I was on my way to get my dinner."  
"Have you been sick in the past week or two? Any other illness apart from the nausea and the fainting?"  
"It was just the once, thanks. And no, no major illness."  
"Any traumatic experiences, death in the family, anything like that?"  
"No," she half lied.  
"Is there any chance you could be pregnant, Miss?"  
"No - there's." her voice trailed off as she seemed to lose all feeling in her jaw, the full impact of the question seeming to smack her between the eyes.  
The ER doctor lowered his head to meet Clarice's downcast eyes.  
"I take it that this might be a possibility?" He had lowered his voice.  
"I-" she croaked, swallowed hard and nodded. "I guess" she finished weakly.  
"Well this blood will tell us what we need to know. I'll be back shortly."  
"Please you have to-" she put out her arm to stop him. "You can't breathe a word of this."  
"Don't worry, I couldn't if I wanted to. Part of the job. Just try and relax now, please? It'll be ok."

Clarice watched the door close shut behind the white-coated medic and sunk her face into her hands. Every nerve in her body came up on edge, and a tension that was neither pleasant nor unpleasant took hold of her. She didn't need the results of that blood test, suddenly she knew. It was true. Warring thoughts crowded her mind. She was so happy she wanted to sing out, and so terrified she wanted to crawl under the bed and hide from the world. She had never wanted children, but the thought of this one, growing inside her gave her a feeling of bliss she never imagined possible. On the other hand, she had some fast talking to do, and a great deal of lying and subterfuge was apparent in her immediate future. Good, bad, positive, negative, real, unreal, funny, scary? All of these things, and more, were the complicated emotions assailing Clarice. She sat in stunned, beatific silence. The doctor returned to the room a few minutes later.  
"Alright I'm going to discharge you, and I'll call you in the morning when I have firm results for you. Drink lots of water, and get a good meal down you ok?"  
Clarice nodded, still looking a little like the proverbial deer in headlights.  
"Are you going to be ok, I mean, you have support?"  
"I'll be fine." Was all she could get out.  
"OK then, speak to you tomorrow," he replied, unconvinced. "You friend is waiting just down the corridor.  
Ardelia was, indeed waiting.  
"Let's just get back the house ok, we'll talk there."

Ensconced on the sofa with steaming mugs of coffee, Clarice and Ardelia eyed each other suspiciously. Ardelia feared some terminal illness, Clarice feared she was not a good enough liar.  
"I'm pregnant." She blurted out. In the silent wake of her confession she continued. "They're going to call me in the morning with the test results, but I already know."  
"Clarice!" Mapp breathed. "What -" What she really wanted to know was 'Who?'  
Clarice hesitated, feeling very much caught between a rock and a hard place. Her loyalties were stretched to breaking point here. She felt she owed Mapp something, but at what price?  
"It's not.... it' wasn't.." Mapp stumbled. "Lecter?" Deep in thought Ardelia was speaking quietly. "Though nothing in his files ever suggested sex crimes, he is too _courteous_ for that.. And it's not like you two were, well, I know you respected him but," she threw her head back and laughed. "Can you imagine?" She continued chuckling to herself like it was some big joke. The laughter soon lost its warmth however, and Clarice could almost hear the cogs and wheels turning.  
She marvelled briefly at Ardelia's mind, still seeking out the salient points despite having nothing to do with this file for some eight years. That clarity might be dangerous for she and Lecter.  
"A one night stand," Clarice lied, biting the bullet. "About two weeks ago. I had a date with a guy from work."  
Mapp had spent a weekend out of town roughly around that time. It seemed as good a time for a fake date as any to Clarice.  
"And you-" she laughed, half relieved, half disbelieving, "You secretive little thing you! Oh Clarice!" She pulled Starling into a tight hug. "I thought there was something really wrong!"  
"I'm good Ardelia, really, I'm ok." She tried gently to fend off the attentions. "I'm happy, I guess." Starling had always detested liars, but the untruths flowed smoothly from her tongue. "I want to keep it, but I don't want him. I just want to be on my own. I'm ready."  
"You won't tell him?"  
Starling shook her head and frowned at Ardelia's disapproving look.  
"It's my life." She said petulantly.  
"Well, you may change your mind about telling him sooner or later."  
Starling gave her best 'don't count on it' look and Mapp conceded defeat, at least for the moment.  
"This is big, girlfriend. Are you sure?"  
"Well what's the alternative?" Clarice countered, appealing to Ardelia's core of ethics. It worked; her face darkened for a second then she hugged Clarice again.  
"OK then. Let's get you something to eat."

It was near midnight when Clarice managed to escape to bed, and finally be alone. She made sure her bedroom door was tight shut then went and sat, cross-legged, atop her bed. She raised her eyes skywards and grinned like an idiot. She put her hand to her flat stomach and tried to understand fully the wonderful thing that had happened, but only intellectually did she know any difference. She was carrying _Hannibal Lecter's_ child. Now, more than ever, she needed to exercise caution. A wave of sadness passed through her as she wished a futile wish that she could somehow tell him. A secondary train of though intruded, demanding that she consider that his reaction may not be the one she hoped for. She put this from her mind, but the doubt lingered there.

Over the next few days, Clarice composed numerous personal ads, but none made it further than her trash can. Contacting him would almost certainly mean trouble, for both of them. He would be thrown into some dank asylum again, this time probably only coming out for the needle. This thought was enough to make her cool her heels and think some more. It was all working out for the best, she mused. Lecter had his long-coveted freedom and she, well even though she didn't have him, she had a piece of him that would be hers forever. As the days turned to weeks, she grew used to being alone. The only company she required was the warm secret close to her heart, and the life in her belly. She was withdrawing from her old life, gradually, spending more and more time alone, talking and singing to the life inside her. When nobody was listening, she told it about its father. 

**FIN CHAPTER FOUR**


	5. The Heart Has Its Reasons & Epilogue

RETROSPECT  
5/5  
The Heart Has Its Reasons 

**BEGIN CHAPTER 5**

She knew Ardelia worried, but also she knew that Ardelia would support whatever decisions she came to, and that she couldn't be made to answer the questions she didn't wish to. Ardelia would find her sometimes, sitting in silence, hand on her now-rounded stomach with a look on her face she couldn't fathom. She almost looked smug in her faraway reverie. The truth was that Clarice was growing more aware of her surroundings as time passed, not less. Her apparent absent-mindedness was nothing of the sort, it was a stilly alertness of everything about her. She observed everything, no matter how acute, in the interests of self-preservation. She was beginning to understand how the Doctor felt most of the time, and she wasn't even a fugitive. So many things to pay attention to, so many actions to double-think lest they draw attention. Clarice found that keeping an orderly schedule worked well for her, that it was easier to spot things that were amiss in a well-worn path. She tried not to over-think things, and kept as much to herself as she could. Even Ardelia had given up asking for the name of the father of the child, tired of the silence that now answered any queries of that nature.

It was a clear afternoon when Clarice, four months along and showing it, climbed into her car for her fortnightly trip to the grocery store. She was tired today. Her dreams had been littered with visions of her lover, and she had woken, perspiring and aroused numerous times in the night. The dreams of him were growing no less frequent with the passage of time, the passage of time containing no word or whisper of his whereabouts. Though she should be grateful, she often felt a little sad, a little resentful towards nobody in particular. She was plagued by thoughts of rejection. The not knowing how he felt was toxic. His freedom was a burden she was willing to bear, but that did not mean she had to like it 100% of the time. Last night she dreamed they visited the opera together, on a sultry night in a distant city. She wore the black dress he had bought for her, and he wore black tie. He was handsome as she had ever seen a man look, and she longed for him with an animal ferocity that he could not ignore. In her dream they made love in their car before they could even get home.

At the turning of the ignition key, the Mustang boomed into life and shook the cobwebs from her mind a little. She wound the window all the way down and enjoyed the refreshing air on her face as she drove. The same market, the same time, every two Saturdays, she made this trip. She always avoided the familiar _hellos_ of the staff who recognized her by sight now, and set about her routine, up and down the aisles, not hurried, not leisurely. Had she not been walking with eyes downcast to avoid the _howdy_ of the doorman, she may have seen something that made her yearning heart skip a beat.

Out in the parking lot, the tinted window of a new Mercedes Benz E-500 sedan wound silently down, and the man inside narrowed his eyes, watching the head of Clarice Starling move away from him and into the store. From his position, many rows of cars away from the entrance, he hadn't got a good look at her, but his breath caught in his throat as the sun glinted on her glorious red hair. Hannibal Lecter wound the window back up and faced forwards, looked thoughtful. There was a standard government issue P.O.S. parked two rows closer to the store, directly between himself and the market. He wondered if she knew they were still tailing her. Out of a force of habit, when the two agents had left the car a short while earlier, he had introduced his stiletto to their rear passenger side tire.

It was not lack of desire to see her that had kept him away all this time. He had honestly meant to come back for her sooner, but it had taken him some time to review his physical appearance and decide on which changes to make. He couldn't ignore the fact that for the first time in his life a little vanity had crept into the decision-making process, and it was entirely to do with Clarice. He laughed softly to himself and glanced into the rearview mirror. He had settled for some work on his nose, and a closely cropped hairstyle. The difference, though subtle, was exactly adequate. His eyes strayed back to the revolving door at the entrance to the establishment, and he felt a familiar ache in his stomach. He was not foolish in love, he was neither foolish nor flippant in anything, but he couldn't deny their unique relationship. The last time he saw her he had doped her up on morphine and ran out of the back door, and he couldn't help but feel he had yet to make that up to her. He had tried to resist the pull, but longed to see her again, in her natural environment, as it were. He was the big game hunter and she was the lioness. The base animal attraction was what drew him out, in the end. It was ironic to him that he, the seasoned fugitive, was the one who broke the deal in the end while she.. she seemed to be managing. Caution was still the word of the hour, but he kept his eye on the G-Men two rows forward and cracked his window once more.

It was about 25 minutes until she appeared again. She was facing directly towards him this time as she negotiated the revolving door, pushing her cart before her. A slight opening of his lips was the only physical sign that he was moved by the sight of her. Internally, it was a different story. His stomach did a flip-flop in a way that seemed juvenile to him, but there was no denying it - he wanted her badly, and he wanted her all to himself. Separating from her had been difficult, he felt he had truly found understanding and tolerance in the attractive package that was Clarice Starling. Their one brief sharing of their passion for one another had kept him satiated in his memory palace all this time, so rich had been the experience. She looked pale, he could see, as he opened the window a little more. A car pulled out of the space next to hers as she approached the trunk of the Mustang, and then he saw.

She was _with child_. His heart thumped irregularly in his chest as he took in this information. His trained physician's eye accurately gauged how far into her term she was, and there was no need to count back the months for the obvious to ring, clarion clear, in this razor sharp mind. A feeling like a bucket of ice-water over his head settled over him. All at once he felt angry and sad and elated and worried Angry that she hadn't told him, sad that she had borne this secret alone, elated that he had done this, and worried worried worried In a very rare moment, Dr. Lecter was at a loss. His heart went out to her, at that moment, and he wished impulsively with all his might for something to save them both from this hellish separation.

Loading groceries into the trunk of her car, Clarice felt a strange sensation. She put her hand instinctively on her swollen belly, but that was not the source of the feeling, a feeling as if something was prickling the back of her mind, demanding attention. She looked up and around, her eyes zeroed in on the silver Mercedes and she froze.  
"Oh my god." She muttered under her breath, unable to tear her eyes away from him. His heart lifted, and immediately sank again, as the two agents in the black sedan followed her gaze to his car. He made a decision. Within a nanosecond he was backing out of the space and barreling towards her position, the sleek car moving like mercury through the crowded lot. He leapt from the car and spoke determinedly to her,  
"Come with me now Clarice, or we'll never have this chance again."  
Her face registered no emotion but inside she was swelling with gladness beyond measure as she nodded. He had come for her! Her eyes caught movement over his shoulder and she saw the agent take Lecter in his sights. Without thinking she put herself between the gun and the doctor, meaning to discourage the shot but it was too late. The sharp report rang our across the parking lot and people everywhere fell to the floor in fear. Clarice felt the bullet enter her body high in the abdomen, the pain flashing through every nerve in her body simultaneously, bright light piercing her eyes and neurons firing in her panic-stricken brain, registering what had happened. She staggered backwards and was caught by strong arms. The light began to fade.

Lecter saw her fretful expression as she advanced upon him and turned to look behind, too late did he realize the agent had already fired, and that she was there, in the direct line. A second later she was staggering backwards into him, and he was pulling her into the car, numbly, on autopilot, trying to will himself not to go into shock along with her. The tires screeched, smoking, as he left the lot as fast as the Mercedes would pull. In his rearview mirror he saw the black government car lumber to a halt just at the lot exit. Next to him, Clarice was bleeding on the white leather interior, the sight of free-flowing blood making him sick to his stomach for the first time in his life.  
"No Clarice!" he shouted, the sound of his distress deadened in the small car. "Come on, hold on for me!" He applied pressure to her wound with his one hand and drove with the other.  
He pointed the car North and drove as fast as he could without drawing attention, until he left the suburbs and was out in the countryside. He was in agony, but she was conscious - barely.

Gravel sprayed as, 40 minutes and a fast, furtive drive later, he pulled to a halt outside an apparently derelict cottage in a small, wooded area. Lifting Clarice from the car he made haste inside and laid her on the kitchen table. He felt all fingers and thumbs as he fumbled for his instruments, cursing himself for ever imagining it was safe to come and see her. His hands were cold and his breath shaky as he swabbed the gunshot wound, and administered some pain relief, but his hands held steady. He removed the bullet, repaired and dressed the wound, and then stood, suddenly at a loss. All he could do was wait and see what the blood loss would do to her, and her unborn child. He thought she had a fighting chance, his Clarice was strong. As he waited, and the hours ticked by, he was assailed by how very important it was that she live. He wanted her with him, he knew now. With him, beside him, for as long as they could manage it. He sat down and leaned his head on the table, waiting to see what time would bring him. He hoped she would regain consciousness before morning, they had to move, and they had to move soon.

It was dark outside when she slowly came back to consciousness, apparently in a great deal of pain. It was with a leaden stomach that he recognized the telltale signs of labor. Like an automaton, he tended to her, tried not to hear her crying, tried to shut himself off from the raw emotion that now filled the space around them. When he was sure there was no hope, he sedated her heavily, and let nature take its course as he presided over events with a hollow heart. Of all the things he had treasured in Clarice, it was her ability to make him feel emotions that had been long, long dormant within him. This was a sharp reminder as to why he had put down those feelings his whole life. Tonight, he felt like crying for the first time since he was 5 years old. He cleaned her up, covered her with a blanket, kissed her on the forehead, and left the room.

**

Clarice was cold, so cold. She tried to open her eyes but they were heavy as lead. She tried to call out and ask where she was, and immediately felt a presence at her side. A soothing voice crooned to her, seemed so glad to see her that she immediately relaxed, content for the moment to lay still and recover her wits. A warm washcloth bathed her face and brought her a little closer to consciousness. Her hazy mind could hardly believe what she saw when she finally opened her eyes. He leaned in and placed a kiss on her lips.  
"Hi." She whispered.  
He just heaved a huge sigh and did not respond.  
"What happened?" He did not need to answer as her memory of events immediately bore down on her. She stifled a sob and tried to sit up, to look down at herself.  
"Clarice," he spoke, putting a hand on her shoulder and easing her back down. "Clarice, I'm so sorry. There was nothing I could do."  
Clarice lay back and started to cry. Through her tears, she did not see the solitary tear escape, and run down his cheek. He leaned over the table and held her, his only wish that he could take her pain away.

When she had spent her grief for the immediate time, they spoke softly to one another.  
"Please don't blame yourself."  
"I had to see you Clarice, I had to come and get you. You belong to me, I told you. This," he gestured vaguely between them, "changes nothing, and yet it changes everything. I'm just claiming what's rightfully mine."  
"I wanted to see you too."  
"Please, just try to relax now. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. Nothing you can say will make me feel any better about this whole thing."  
"I'm glad you came." She said quietly. She was. It was not the same as being glad that things had turned out this way, but just having him there helped more than he could ever know. "Please don't ever leave me again." She just put it out there, just like that. She had to know now, one way or the other, whether they were going to be together or not. She couldn't live forever in the past with him.  
"Not in a thousand years," he said, smiling down at her. "Not in a thousand years."

  
**FIN CHAPTER FIVE**

**EPILOGUE**

Buenos Aires was hot and humid, it was a summer night in August. Clarice Starling examined herself in the mirror. She had put on an old black dress, and Lecter, from his expression as he advanced from behind, clearly recognized it.  
"Hardly appropriate for the opera, my sweet, but very becoming."  
She smiled and leaned back for a kiss. His arms came around her from behind and he stroked her stomach protectively. Clarice understood the gesture for what it was. She did not blame him, but he had his own demons.  
"Are you ready?" she said, distracting him. She still fought down the feelings of loss to this day, but eager and willing to embrace her future with him, they were coming through with shining colors. Every day they counted as a blessing, every minute they shared in freedom a boon.  
He offered his arm and they left the house and met their car outside.

They did not manage to get beyond the interval, that night. Their driver hastily dropped his cigarette and sprang into action as he spied their premature emergence from the building. In the car Hannibal pulled Clarice into his lap and made love to her as they drove through the streets of the city, unwilling or unable to wait. He allowed himself some spontaneity these days. Their lovemaking was, like their feelings for one another, always passionate. When they arrived home he dismissed the servants. They repaired upstairs for cocktails, and to dance all night on the terrace.

**FIN**


End file.
